


When Morning Comes - Haven

by ladyamesindy



Series: Taryn Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3672912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyamesindy/pseuds/ladyamesindy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her family sent her to the Conclave to represent their interests, but Taryn Trevelyan both lost and found much more than she bargained for in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Impressions

She recalled one of the Chantry sisters from her youth, her name lost to memory over the years, telling her that the Maker worked in mysterious but wondrous ways.

She would hardly call the mark on her hand ‘wondrous.’  It did not inspire feelings of delight or suggest anything pleasing.  In fact, as far as she was concerned, its presence complicated things.  She had no knowledge of how it had come to be on her person or of its intended purpose, only that, if anything, it appeared to be the ‘proof’ necessary for her to be condemned as a murderer.  

She was no advocate of the legal system.  Had no formal training in how to defend against such accusations.  Despite continued protestations that she had no recollection of the crime for which she was being accused, it remained.  Words like ‘execution’ and ‘trial’ and ‘guilt’ all bandied about, as if she had no say in the matter.  In that moment, she was alone.  Afraid, perhaps, but she would be damned if she would allow them to see it.  No one to whom she could turn.   All she had was faith … a faith that now gave her courage far beyond that what she might have found otherwise.

 

*****

 

“You accuse me of murdering Divine Justinia,” she spat out, temper burning through her from head to toe, “and yet you expect that I will help you with this .. this rift?”  She inclined her head in the general direction of the Temple, towards the disturbance, clearly viewed above.  “You have some nerve!”

There was a strange crackling rumble in the distance, echoed more clearly and painfully in the mark upon her hand.  Grasping her wrist, she dropped to a knee as the pain sliced upwards and fanned out through the rest of her body, as if passing along its own views on her participation..  

“It has been suggested,” her accuser, voice closer as she moved in to slide a shoulder beneath her arm for support and help her back to her feet, “that the mark on your hand might be the key to closing it.”

The Seeker, plainly identified by the markings on her clothing, her shield, assisted her forward a few paces.  “The people here have already judged you,” she announced.  “They believe you to be guilty simply because you walked out of the Fade when no one else did.  You alone survived.”

She pulled her arm from the woman, willing herself to stand alone, without assistance.  “You, _they_ , know nothing about me,” she countered, anger still simmering.  “I am a loyal Andrastian.  My family is one of Divine Justinia’s staunchest supporters.  But, you judge me based on impressions rather than guesswork.  On folly rather than fact!”

The Seeker paused, turning back to face her.  “I am willing to withhold judgement,” she asserted, “if it means we can close the rift.  Find out what _really_ happened.”

She sighed.  “You weren’t listening,” she said.  “I told you - _I have no memory of what happened_.”

“There will be a trial -”

“I am innocent!”

“There must be clues.  And we will find them.  The truth is all that matters.”  The Seeker ignored her protestations and continued, her gaze drifting back towards the opening in the sky once more.  

She was damned.  The accusations would still be there, no matter what choice she made.  If she opted to assist - _willingly_ assist - it might give her an advantage when it came to making her claim of innocence, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.  On the other hand, flat out refusal would just make her look even more guilty.

Wouldn’t her family just _love_ to see what a mess she had made of things now?  

Her choice came without specifically directed thought.  “Take me to the Temple.  And Maker be merciful that it will be as simple as you suggest.”

 

*****

 

Her voice was soft, deceptively sweet and very pleasing to the ear.  And yet, it promised one thing while delivering something altogether different.  The hood could mean any number of things, but the accent, that she recognized.   _Orlesian_.  Which, when combined with the rest, hinted at … well, MORE.  She might not be Orlesian herself, but she’d visited upon occasion.  Had a sibling married to one.  Had witnessed the ins and outs and intricacies of intrigues at court.  This one … well, this one would bear watching.

“If we take the mountain path we can look for the missing scouts and make our way through faster,” Hood announced.

“And if we help the soldiers,” the Seeker countered, “we can get there more directly.  We will also have our forces providing assistance.”

She could see that Hood was not satisfied with the Seeker’s suggestion.  “Whatever we decide, we must do it quickly!”

She turned back, awaiting the Seeker’s next counter argument, but the Seeker was still arguing with the … what was it she’d called him?  Glorified clerk?  Chantry bureaucrat?

And then, quite suddenly, “How do you think we should proceed?”

The Seeker’s question, aimed in her direction, startled her and had her backing up a step, bumping into the dwarf who had joined them.  He, at least, took the contact with some small amusement and she found his warm chuckle to be calming.  

“You - you want _me_ to decide?”

“You carry the mark,” the elf, joined at the time of the dwarf, pointed out.  

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” the Seeker stated plainly.  “Since we cannot agree among ourselves …”

Hood turned towards her, eyes very intense.  “Which shall it be?”

Unprepared, given everything that had happened to this point, it took her a moment to stammer, “Th-the soldiers.”  Reinforcements could never be a bad thing when going up against your opponent, right?  Straightening, rolling her shoulders back, she added in a surer tone, “We charge with them.”

“Bring everyone left in the valley,” the Seeker told Hood.  “We are going to need them.”  

Hood nodded and turned to leave.  “I will meet you at the Temple.”  She disappeared before anyone could reply.

 

*****

 

The battle was well engaged even before their arrival, but once the enemy had been thinned out, there was a moment’s pause in which they could speak.

“The path to the Temple should be clear,” he promised, stalking over towards them, authority screaming with each step he took.  She recognized the source easily enough, it was all too familiar to her.  

The Seeker replied for them as a whole.  “Good.  Hopefully, this will be over soon.”

 _And then what will become of me?_ she wondered.  She bit her lip to remain silent.  Such things could wait.  In any case, there was no guarantee that she would survive until then.

Though silent, her eyes met his and held for a long moment.  In them, she could see he had his own doubts and concerns about the ease with which this would be completed, but he, too, held them back.

Though his gaze did not break, he knelt beside a wounded soldier and helped him to his feet, sliding a shoulder beneath him for support.  “We’ve lost a lot of soldiers getting you here.”

A war was going on inside her head at his words.  Anger that they would risk so many on the off chance she might have the answer.  Despair that she would be unable to do what they hoped she could.  Fear at what the future might hold based on such an uncertain outcome to the present.

“Maker watch over you … for all our sakes.”

“I … will do what I can,” she finally promised as he walked away, unsure what to say just then.  Besides, there would be time for talk later.  

If they survived.  If this plan worked.  If they didn’t decide to execute her the moment this - whatever _this_ was - was over.  If the Maker were truly on their side.

_If. If. IF._

 


	2. Duty Lies Before You

“No.”  

Her booted foot stopped just short of stomping (there was a fine line and she knew the boundaries well) to emphasize her point.  She was a Trevelyan, after all.  A noble among nobles.  A distinguished family.  Pious.  Like the siblings who came before, a child who understood family duty.  Temper tantrums were _not_ acceptable behavior.

“You have no choice in the matter.”

Seven words.  Words that set her heart to racing with fear and anger.  With frustration.   _No, please, I can’t!_ she wanted to scream, but didn’t.  To do so would require explanation.  Explanation that she could not, _would_ not give.   What was it her father always said?   _Duty lies before you_.  

Teeth ground tightly forcing herself to remain silent.  Dammit, why could they not just leave her be?  It wasn’t like they _needed_ her for anything!  She was the eighth child - a cast off, really.  An afterthought.  Already, two of her older siblings had joined the Order.  Surely that was enough, wasn’t it?  Why did they need _her_ to follow suit?

Withholding temper had it’s limits, however.  Desperation, a stronger will.  Spinning on her heel, her glare landed on her father full force as she spied him across the room.  If he noticed the outburst, he gave no indication of it.  Most times, she was the picture of respect.   _Ever a dutiful daughter …._  

“I am _NOT_ going to become a templar!” she growled, her voice heavy with emphasis.   _Enough, Taryn,_ she chided silently.   _Silence yourself before you cause irrevocable damage with your words!_

“As I said, you have no choice,” her father repeated.  He was the picture of calm dignity.  Not even the flushing of his cheeks to indicate he felt anything beyond mild annoyance at his youngest’s refusal to cooperate.  “You are of an age, Taryn.  And the only option available for you is -”

Taryn struggled to bite back the feral cry of anger clawing its way up her throat.  “You use the Chantry as a means to an end, Father,” she spat.  “A dumping grounds for sons and daughters for whom you can find no other place -”

“Enough!”

A new voice, more feminine, this time from the doorway.  Of course her mother would back her father.   _The Trevelyan family has always supported the Chantry, the Templar Order.  We always do what is best for the family …._  

Her protests switched targets mid battle.  “You cannot simply push me off to the -”

A heavy sigh echoed around them, loud enough to cut off the younger and strong enough to keep her mother from speaking again.  Both women turned towards him.  “It was decided long ago,” he announced firmly, his face still hiding any sort of emotional reaction.  “You will travel to the Conclave, with Simon and Maxwell.  Together, the three of you will represent our interests at this meeting;  you will give our full support to the Chantry … and to the Templar Order.  Upon your return, you will take the next steps to fulfill that support.”

Taryn’s jaw tightened until her jaw ached, defeat inevitable and overwhelming.  

And yet, days later, even as she sat astride her mount, a brother on each side, within her father’s words she thought she might have found what she needed.  A way out.  A tiny loophole.  Just large enough for her to squeeze through and take advantage.  Timing would be the determining factor.  Opportunity too, of course, but then in past she had always found opportunity where seemingly none existed.  So much so that some wondered at her decision to train as a warrior instead of bard.  But then, like now, she was firm in her decision.  She cared not if they remembered or had forgotten that particular skill.  One chance was all she needed.  

_All that matters is timing …_

 

~ o ~

 

“Herald, are you ill?  Injured?  Should I fetch Apothecary Adan for you?”

Blinking rapidly, Taryn’s musings rapidly returned to the present to find herself seated on solid ground in the training area.  How she came to this point, she had no recollection.  The last she remembered she was facing off against Cassandra just before her vision had shifted ….  

Head tilting upwards, she lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the brightness of the sun.  “What … what happened?”

The Seeker snorted, a somewhat disgusted sound, but she extended a hand offering assistance nonetheless.  Accepting it, Taryn quickly regained her footing.  Her sword was still in her hand, but her shield ....?

“You lost focus,” Cassandra announced matter-of-factly, master to an unlikely apprentice.  “You dropped your shield too low and -”

“Oh.”  Memory returned first followed by the sharp ache of reminder at her hip.  Wincing, she rubbed absently at the sore area.  The bruise would be reminder enough to not let it happen again.  Cassandra’s chastisement did not bother Taryn.  Though experience in battles together had been minimal so far, Taryn was fully aware that Cassandra knew just how well trained the Herald was.  After all, she _had_ survived the Conclave ….

It was then Taryn caught the sun glinting off the edge of her shield nearby … a shield now held by the Commander himself.  Heat rose to her cheeks as embarrassment settled fully.  Having such a thing happen in front of Cassandra was one thing, but in front of the General himself?  Taryn forcefully suppressed a shudder at the thought of what he must think of her skill, or lack thereof, and forced herself to approach him.  He said not a word, simply handed the shield over when she reached for it, then gave a quick nod before turning his attention back to the others sparring nearby.  

Relief surged through her more quickly than she imagined possible.  Turning back to face her own training partner, Taryn managed, “I … I guess I was distracted.”

Another snort, though Taryn couldn’t quite tell the nature of this one.  “That was obvious.  You should not allow yourself to -”

They were words Taryn heard over the years, of course, and despite being well deserved in this moment, Taryn cut the other woman off quickly.  “My apologies.  I was reminded of my brothers, is all.  It won’t happen again.”

That seemed to catch Cassandra off guard.  Her head tilted in question as she asked, “Your brothers?”

Taryn nodded.  Though she didn’t want to discuss it just now, she accepted that Cassandra needed some sort of explanation for her behavior.  “Simon and Maxwell,” she explained quietly.  “They are - well, _were_ , I guess - part of the Templar Order.  We were sent to the Conclave together.”  Most days, Taryn was too busy to notice the pain, the aching numbness created by the absence of the two siblings with whom she was closest.  Most days, she didn’t have to worry about the guilt of not remembering what happened, of why she survived and they didn’t.  Of what explanation she was going to have to, some day, give her family.

Today was not most days, it seemed.

“But you are not a Templar,” Cassandra observed with some confusion.  “Why were you there?”

Now it was Taryn’s time to make a noise of disgust.  Adjusting her shield on her arm and the grip on the hilt in her hand, she glanced sideways over at Cassandra.  “Yet,” she enunciated with only the slightest hint of venom in her tone.  “My parents made it clear before I left Ostwick I was to be sent to the Chantry upon my return.”  Making one last adjustment to her grasp on her shield, she banged the hilt of her sword against its edge, nodding in satisfaction a moment later.  “Doesn’t matter,” she added sardonically.  “I have no doubt they will find some way to work my current situation to their advantage now … or that of the family.”

Ignoring Cassandra’s bewildered look - how could Taryn expect others to understand her family when she could not herself? - she moved back into a defensive stance.  “Let’s try this again, shall we?”


	3. Stormy Weather

Though soft and barely audible, the Herald recognized the steps approaching from behind, not even flinching when a familiar voice commented, “I am sorry you did not fare better on your trip to Val Royeaux.”

Eyes still locked on the path her visitor had departed down, Taryn still managed to respond.  “I am more concerned for Cassandra.  She seemed quite alarmed and confused by Lord Seeker Lucius’ actions.”

Leliana stepped around the Herald, into her sights.  Nodding, she murmured, “Indeed.”

Tearing her eyes from the path, Taryn glanced over at the spymaster.  “Is there something you needed?”

Leliana’s giggle reminded Taryn of some of the girls she had known as a child.  Light, airy, without a care in the world.  But the look in her eyes told a different story.   _Spymaster, indeed_ , she thought, if only superficially recognizing the skills of one who not only knew the Game, but played it well.  “I am curious about the visitor you just had,” she replied, nodding her head in the direction he’d departed.  “I do not recognize him.”

Taryn nodded.  “His name is Cremisius Aclassi.  Said he had a message for the Inquisition,” she explained.  “Apparently, he’s a member of a mercenary group called the Bull’s Chargers.”

The look on Leliana’s face did not change, but she nodded slowly.  “I have heard of them, yes,” she said.  “I’m curious why they would be approaching the Inquisition, though.  They are more known for their work in other parts of Thedas.”

“He said something about some Tevinter mercenaries along the Storm Coast,” Taryn told her.  

“Hmm.”  This time the Nightingale’s brows furrowed as she considered.  “If true, that would not be good.”

Taryn nodded.  “Said his commander, a Qunari named the Iron Bull, was offering the information free of charge and if we wanted to see what he and the Chargers could bring to the Inquisition, we should meet them at the Storm Coast.”  

Leliana’s gaze found hers and Taryn smirked.  “Yeah,” she answered the unspoken question.  “Sounds too good to be true, I know.”

“Not necessarily,” Leliana insisted.  “I have heard about these Chargers and their leader, the Iron Bull.  Their reputation precedes them.  It might be worth checking into.  If they are offering their services ….”

Taryn sighed and nodded again.  When Leliana turned away, starting towards her tent nearby, the Herald followed.  “Still, could it be a trap?”

“I will need to do some more checking,” the spymaster replied, “but I am inclined to think not.  From what I do know, they are very reliable - loyal to whomever they agree to serve and they do not break a contract once it has been made.”

Taryn, standing near the entrance to Leliana’s tent took a slight shift to her right, her eyes falling upon the gates below, now closing behind Aclassi.  “Interesting.”

Leliana’s soft chuckling pulled Taryn back a moment later.  “Go on,” she advised, her smile as playful as the lilt in her tone, though Taryn was well aware that they were likely not what they seemed.  “You get your team together and go investigate.  I will see what my agents can find out.”

Taryn felt a grin pull at her lips.  Though Val Royeaux had been somewhat of a disaster in terms of finding support for the Inquisition as a whole, they _had_ come back with two new companions.  And now it looked as if there was the potential for several more.  “Might be a good way to test our newest members,” she agreed.

Leliana’s smile brightened.  “And take Cassandra’s mind off of Lord Seeker Lucius, too,” she added.

Taryn nodded.  Turning to leave, she glanced back and asked, “Why do I get the feeling you are setting me up for something?”

Another giggle.  “You are a little paranoid, Herald,” she said lightly.  “Though, given all that has happened lately, that is not a bad thing to be, I think….”


	4. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not used to following my works, I tend to take titles from songs (lyrics or titles). Today's reaches back 30 years to high school and a song we sang in show choir.

Progress was, all things considered, achievable even in a place such as Haven.  While they lacked some things, like the name suggested, it gave them a place to do it in relative peace.

Walking among the recruits, Cullen kept a close eye upon them: form, technique, skill.  Those needing further demonstration or instruction were given it; those who were coming along just fine were encouraged to continue and work with those needing assistance.  All in all, things were beginning to take shape, and though still meagre in number at best, the ultimate form of that shape could eventually be something to be reckoned with.

At the end of the day, as was his habit, the Commander stopped first by the tavern for a simple meal, shared with those he had come to know by sight if not by name, and a bit of musical entertainment.  Occasionally, Leliana or Cassandra, when she wasn’t off on a mission with the Herald, would join him, taking time for double duty in sharing a meal as well as updating one another on events and status as they viewed them.  Once or twice, Varric joined him and they would share a drink, remembering Kirkwall and what befell that city and its people.  But most of the time, he remained alone at his table and that was just fine by him.

On this evening, however, Cullen found himself drawn away from all that for reasons he did not quite understand.  

It all began with a pup, young enough to be away from its mother but still wobbly enough to tumble into the snowdrift at the base of the staircase leading up from the training yards.  Chuckling softly to himself, for it reminded him of life back in Ferelden with his siblings before he’d been sent off to the Chantry, Cullen spared a moment to kneel down, scoop the hound into his hand and lift him into his arms for the short journey upwards.  When he reached the top of the second set of steps and was relatively certain the hound would make it back to shelter easily enough, he found, much to his surprise, that the hound did not wish to leave him.  In fact, it seemed that the animal was wanting him to play.  

“Go on,” he told the pup with a laugh, gesturing towards the housing on the far side of the Chantry.  

The pup, however, plopped down on its haunches and barked up at the soldier.  Repeatedly.  When Cullen turned to retrace his steps so he could head towards the tavern, the creature jumped up and trotted towards him, pouncing on the tail of his cloak where he sat himself down and barked yet again.  Cullen noticed just before the hound would have bounced down a step or two and turned to quickly scoop him back up to safety.  

“Is that really necessary?” he asked, his voice a mixture of exasperation and exhaustion.  It had been a long day after all.  

Though he wasn’t looking for a specific answer, the pup barked yet again.  Sighing, Cullen decided that following it for a short way would satisfy its needs and hopefully during that time it might find it some other distraction.  Setting the pup back down to the ground, he replied, “Fine then.  Lead the way.”

The animal yipped once in excitement, hopping to Cullen’s left before it turned around and started sniffing around them.  The Commander had his doubts that the hound understood his words, this was not a mabari pup, after all, but whether it did or not was beside the point as he picked up some sort of trail and started moving forward.  Dutifully, Cullen followed.  

At first, the direction seemed random.  Over by a small cluster of buildings (Maker, he hoped the pup wasn’t going to insist on entering Adan’s apothecary - how would he ever explain?), then backtracking towards Leliana’s tent.  There was a moment’s concern when the hound seemed to want to jump the wall to the tents below, but the minute Cullen clicked his tongue to encourage the hound back from the edge, the pup retreated, instead heading towards the Chantry door.  That, Cullen felt, was a much better option and he wondered if Josephine might have some ideas what to do with the creature ....

Until the pup froze for a half second, head tilted to the side, ears pricked upwards as if listening intently.  An instant later, it took off at breakneck speed down the path towards the apothecary again.  Frantic to keep both the animal safe and any unsuspecting people from being toppled unexpectedly, Cullen rushed after it.  However, when they got to the bend in the path on the far side of the Chantry, Cullen was surprised to see the animal break hard to their left, further into the snow and grass, and then try bounding up the hill.  Making a disgruntled sound, Cullen followed after.  

“Where are you going?” he called out to the animal.  “There is nothing here but - Oh!  Hello.”

Cullen pulled himself up short just before he would have tripped over the figure seated on the ground before him.  In the rapidly darkening light, he could make out a shape but could not specifically identify it … until it turned towards him and glanced upwards.  “Maker’s breath!” he breathed in shock, eyes widening.  “I did not see you there!”

The minute Taryn realized someone was following the pup that had bounded over to her side, she pulled her legs inward towards her body so that she would not trip them.  Arms now wrapped around her legs, she held them tightly to her chest, her eyes searching out his in the dark.  “Commander,” she murmured in greeting, hastily reaching out to snatch the pup who was trying to turn and jump back towards Cullen just then.  “I ... I’m sorry if I’m in the way.”

Cullen shook his head.  “No,” he assured her quickly, “of course you aren’t,”  Taking a moment to look around them, he added, “Though, one might wonder why you are, well, hiding out here of all places, especially in the cold and dark.”

Taryn managed a soft snort of wry amusement before she pushed herself to her feet.  She waved a bit of parchment, he noticed, before folding it and placing it inside her pocket.  “A letter,” she explained a moment later.  “From home.”  

“Ah.  Good news, I hope?”

Taryn’s head dropped, the noise she now made more resembling Cassandra’s disgusted tones than anything agreeable.  “I am certain they think so,” she muttered.

She took a step around him to head down the hill, but her foot slipped.  Cullen reacted instantly, moving quickly to lend his arm in support.  She hesitated at first, but after a moment wrapped her arm through his.  Only then did he lead the way down the icy incline.  Although curious about her comment, he did not ask for clarification.  It was not his business unless she chose to make it so.

They paused at the base of the hill, and Taryn glanced up towards him.  “My family can be … difficult at the best of times,” she said by way of explanation.  “Well known, well respected by other nobles in the Free Marches and elsewhere, they like their influence, or at least their perceived influence, in society.”  Sighing, she glanced away once again.

Confused and uncertain what he should say in response, Cullen asked, “Is that not a good thing?”  When she spun back around, he realized he had made a mistake.  “Erm … what I mean is, would that not help you right now?  I would imagine their support of the Inquisition might -”

Her snort of anger had a hint of a growl behind it.  She pulled away from him, sharp movements filled with agitation.  “Oh, my family would be more than willing to lend their support, yes,” she hissed.  “in fact, they probably expect to do so and are wondering why I have yet to contact them in this regard.”

Cullen frowned.  Tilting his head slightly, he continued, “You do not wish them to?”

There was a fierceness in her eyes when she met his once more.  “No, Commander, I most certainly do not.”  

A yip caught Cullen’s attention and he glanced at the pup who now sat beside him and was staring up at the Herald.  She saw it too, taking a knee for a moment to reach over and scratch behind the animal’s ears.  “You seem to have acquired a new friend, Commander,” she observed with a chuckle, the tension from mere moments before dissipating.  

Cullen sighed.  “I sincerely hope not,” he replied.  “I do not have the time to train or care for a hound at the moment.”  It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs - his family had one when he was young that he’d been quite fond of - but the limited time he would be able to give to it would not be fair to the animal.  

The Herald snapped her fingers once and the dog barked, sitting further at attention.  “Perhaps one of the others?” she suggested.  “Someone in Haven itself?”

Cullen nodded.  “Perhaps.”  He glanced around them, the wind whipping up more of a chill and he thought he saw her shiver.  Reacting on instinct, he pulled his cloak off his shoulders and tucked it around her before leading the way to the main path.  “You are freezing.  We should head back indoors where it is warmer.”

But when he turned towards the main entrance to the Chantry, he felt her hesitate.  “No, not there,” she implored.  Was that a hint of panic he heard in her voice?  “Perhaps the tavern?  I have yet to eat dinner, and -”

“Of course.”  Offering her his arm again, when she took it he carefully started to lead the way once again.  “But if I may ask, why not the Chantry?  It is closer and certainly warmer than outside.”

She nodded, unable or unwilling to argue against his points.  “It is, but Josephine is inside.  She will want to know my response to my family and I just ….”  She sighed again, shaking her head.  “I cannot deal with them right now.”  Her eyes lifted to his just as he reached for the door.  “Just … a little while longer.  Is that asking too much?”

A smile of understanding curved his lips and he nodded.  The Ambassador for the Inquisition could come across as just a bit demanding or intimidating, he supposed, in her desire to form alliances in support of their cause.  “As you wish, Herald,” he murmured.  He opened the door and gestured her inside.  “I have yet to eat myself, do you mind if I join you?”

Her eyes brightened with relief.  “Please.  I would prefer your company to my own thoughts just now.”

Another sharp yip from the hound reminded them both of his presence.  Cullen sighed, but the Herald laughed softly.  “And you, too, my furry friend,” she assured him, glancing up at Cullen.  “If that is alright with you, Commander?”

Cullen blinked back surprise at her request.  “I ….  Whatever you wish,” he agreed a moment later.  Several loud protests were thrown in his direction as a wintry chill gusted through the open door.  “Well, you heard her,” he told the hound.  “Come on inside.”   With another yip of approval, he did just that.


	5. Unnerving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timing of this one is earlier on (I won't specify any particular missions, but it's after chapter 2 and before 3 & 4.

Taryn needed time.   _Time heals all wounds_ , she recalled her older sister Annet advising the next youngest Trevelyan daughter, Noelle, once.  Taryn had been six at the time and, of course, hadn’t understood what was meant.  Still, the words had stuck with the youngest in the intervening twenty years or so, despite her lack of understanding at the time.

These days, however, Taryn could find multiple meanings for the words.  There were too many pains, aches, wounds.  Some were easier to live with on a daily basis, others it was all she could do to force herself to just _breathe_ from one moment to the next.  

Today, her hip was doing better, though the deep, resounding ache that remained was a lesson learned in itself.   _Dragons_ , she mused as she wandered through the gates of the village to the training yard.   _Why’d it have to be dragons?_  She’d taken a good wallop to her side in the battle the other day, that was certain, and though at the time she’d managed to continue on without treatment, today she was paying that price.  However, Apothecary Adan had provided something to decrease the pain for a time if not completely chase it away, even if the colorful splotches in shades of black, blue and purple spread most of the way from her waist to her knee.

A balm for the ache in her heart was not so easy to find.  Though Taryn tried to hide it from her advisors - a distracted Herald was a Herald not focused on sealing the Breach, after all - she suspected that all three were well aware of the distraction; no doubt supported by Cassandra’s claims after their training fiasco a few weeks before.  The wounds from that (embarrassment only) still stung, though again time was proving it would fade.  Still, no one had approached her about it as yet, and Taryn attempted to keep herself distracted enough from the cause during the days so that the images and memories of Simon and Maxwell did not lead her astray again so badly.  Nights, on the other hand, were something else altogether.

Taryn nodded at various groups of recruits as she wandered past.  Some were former Templars, others were soldiers with varying levels of training.  Still, others had no training to speak of.  Taryn’s eyes settled upon the Commander as he supervised the day’s exercises.  Thank goodness he was on their side.  Taryn did not know much about him, save that he hailed most recently from Kirkwall and that Cassandra had convinced him to join the Inquisition before she left there.  Though she had no experience fighting beside him in battle, Taryn could recognize the level of his skill.  It was quite clear to anyone with such training in the way he carried himself as well as the way he trained the soldiers.   _Former Templar_.  A smile pulled at Taryn’s lips as he waved at her and she nodded back before turning to hobble down the path.  The Templars did not just choose _any_ one to join their ranks, this she knew.  

Carefully avoiding patches of snow and ice, Taryn veered to the north, off the main path.  There was a gradual decline and after a moment or two, she could see a building ahead of her through the trees.  Adan suggested she head this way, search for anything that might aid him in making potions, and since she was not planning to leave on her next mission just yet (she hadn’t been the only one batted around by the dragon) and needed the distraction, Taryn decided today was the day to investigate.  

She lifted her gloved hand and rapped on the door, but no one answered.  As it was not locked, Taryn slipped inside and waited until her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting before she moved in further.  A few moments later, she was able to see a desk in the corner of the room and moved over to have a look.  

The desktop was, quite literally, a mess.  Papers scattered about, an old quill, even what appeared to be a new wheel of cheese (smell notwithstanding).  With an aroma strong enough to cause her to gag, Taryn moved aside to sit on the top of a nearby barrel before returning to the papers, most of which were on the top of the table, but a glance on the far side of the desk provided evidence that additional pages had fallen to the floor at some point.  First things first, Taryn scooped up the dropped sheets and added them to the pile.  Only then did she start looking through them.  Minutes passed, or hours - Taryn would never know for sure - but at some point, she realized something changed.  So intent was she in her search, however, it took a moment before Taryn recognized that the room around her was brightening … because the door behind her was being pushed open and the sunshine was pouring inside.  Biting back a combination of irritation with herself for allowing such a stupid mistake to occur and embarrassment at the thought of having to explain her presence in someone else’s home, she spun around on her heel and ….

“There you are.”

Taryn blinked in surprise.  “C-commander?”

Cullen stepped inside the room, pushing the door closed behind him.  “I apologize if I startled you,” he said.  “With as much difficulty as you were having walking, I wanted to be sure you did not slip on the snow or ice.”

“The ….”  Taryn took a deep breath, tamping down most of the adrenaline rush that overwhelmed her at his sudden arrival.  “Oh.  I … thank you.  I guess?”  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she could see a slight hint of pink at his cheeks as his hand rose to rub at the back of his neck.

Chuckling softly, he smiled.  “It wouldn’t do to have the Herald of the Inquisition injuring herself further while healing from battle injuries, now would it?” he asked.

Rolling her eyes, the irritation flared and Taryn snorted as she turned back to the desk to continue her search.  “I am not an invalid, you know,” she announced in a rather arch tone.  “Nor am I the klutz you all appear to think I am.”

She heard him step towards her, close but not too close, his booted steps making a distinctive thunk upon the floorboards mixed with the faintest jangling of his armor as it adjusted to the movement.  “I was not suggesting such a thing,” he promised.  

“Hrmf.”

Cullen stepped up beside her, glancing down at the papers spread across the desk in front of her, and asked, “What is all of this?”

Taryn sighed, the irritation leaving as quickly as it had arrived.  “Apothecary Adan asked that I look for some notes his master, Taigan, was thought to have left behind before he left for the Conclave.  This,” she gestured at the pile of papers, “is all I’ve found so far.”

The Conclave.  Taryn thought she saw Cullen stiffen out of the corner of her eye at her mention of it, and the mark on her hand certainly flared and flickered strongly enough, though covered with a glove.  Along with that, the sharper twinges she was coming to expect from the thing at such times made themselves known, too.  Yet another of those aches and pains for which time was required.  

Cullen’s gaze drifted down to focus on the mark, watching in fascination as the flickering continued.  It was not as strong or energetic as it had been the day they met, but they were not in as close proximity to the rift at the moment as they had been then, either.  Her hand twitched, almost a reflexive sort of jerk, and his brows narrowed in concern.  “Does that pain you?” he asked.

Taryn shrugged.  “At times,” she admitted.  “No more so right now than a headache might.”  She lifted her eyes to meet his and offered him a smile.  “I’m learning to live with it.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, and Taryn could see a play of emotions pass behind his eyes though she was not certain exactly what she was seeing.  Reading people and their reactions was not a strong point of hers.  “And when you go out on your missions?  What of it then?”

Taryn sighed softly.  “I am not quite certain how to answer that,” she admitted.  “Simply traveling around from place to place does not seem to affect it, but if we near a rift or these elven artifacts that Solas has me watching for … then it is more … noticeable.”  

“How so?”

Taryn frowned, searching for a way to explain.  “I guess you could say it is more painful,” she admitted.  “It’s really hard to describe.  I think, though, as I get more used to it, the pain just … well, it doesn’t fade, I just don’t notice it as much.”  She shrugged again and gave him an apologetic sort of look.  “Sorry.”

His eyes held hers a second or two longer before he turned back to the papers on the desk.  “I imagine it must be difficult to get accustomed to.”

Taryn snorted softly, chuckling as she turned back with him.  “You could say that,” she replied dryly.  “However, I think it is more disconcerting to have everyone calling me ‘Herald,’ to be quite honest.”  

Pausing, he looked over at her.  “Oh?”

She nodded, eyes rising to stare at the jumping flame in the sconce on the wall.  “I do not like that people think I am Andraste’s chosen one.”  Her voice sounded small now, even to her own ears.  

Dropping the papers he held, Cullen turned to face her.  “They do so because after all that has happened, it brings them hope.”

“I know that, I do, but honestly, it does the exact opposite for me,” she told him.  “Because I know different.”

He frowned.  “You sound frightened.”

She looked up at him and nodded.  “I am,” she admitted.  “There are plenty of people out there against us, who are more focused on the fact that I appear to have caused the Breach, instead focusing on the fact that I am trying to close it.  Who is to say they, even though there are plenty who support us and who call me ‘Andraste’s chosen,’ won’t stir the others up into some sort of frenzy of religious hatred?”

Cullen now looked startled.  “Have you had any specific threats aimed at you?” he asked.

She frowned.  “What?  No!  Oh, no, I didn’t mean myself,” she hurriedly explained.  “I meant for anyone out there who believes that I am.  The Herald, that is.”  She sighed yet again, this time in frustration and agitation.  “Oh, damn, I’m saying this all wrong.”

“No.”  He reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder, hand closing firmly over the material there.  “Herald, you -”

“Taryn,” she broke in immediately, pleadingly.  “Just call me Taryn.  Please.  Especially when no one else is around.  Calling me Herald is just … it’s unnerving.”

Cullen found a smile and nodded.  “Alright, Taryn,” he agreed, “I can honor that request easily enough.”

“Thank you.”  

“But I want you to promise me something in return.”

Blinking, Taryn started nodding before she could stop herself.  “What?”

His other hand rose, following the first, until he stood there holding her firmly.  “You are a humble person, I can see that with your concern for the others,” he began, “but I want you to promise me that if you begin to sense a change out there,” he nodded vaguely in the direction beyond Haven, “in the attitude of people towards you, you will tell me so we can make arrangements for better security.”

“Command -”

“Promise,” he insisted.  

Taryn sighed, but nodded after a long moment.  “I promise.”

“Good.”  His hands fell and he turned back to the desk.  “Oh, and if you want me to call you by your given name, I am going to make the same request of you.”

Taryn inhaled softly at the request, her thoughts jumping.  She had a valid reason for asking him to use her given name.  He, however, had no such -

“Please?”

A smile pulled at her lips and she darted a quick sideways glance over at him.  He certainly seemed to be a charmer, didn’t he?  “Do you _always_ get your way?” she demanded in a more relaxed tone.  

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied, but Taryn did see a smirk forming, small as it might be.  That only served to make her grin.

“I bet you had your mother wrapped around your little finger from the time you were walking,” she accused.  Nodding firmly, she added, “Didn’t you?”

Cullen chuckled softly.  “Now, what could I have done to give you such an opinion of me?”

This time it was Taryn who blinked.  Was he … was he teasing her back?  “Why, Command-”

“Uh uh,” he cut her off, waggling a finger back and forth towards her.  “Not unless you want me to call you -”

“Fine, Cullen!”  Taryn laughed softly.  “You are quite the mercenary, aren’t you?”  Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders and looked back down at the papers before them.

“Only if I need to be,” he replied.  “Or if certain leaders with glowy green magical marks on their hands and who wish remain nameless prove to be difficult.”

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “Maker, preserve me!” even as she tried to focus on the papers yet again.

A minute later, Cullen settled a small stack of notes in front of her.  “Here you are,” he announced.  

Taryn glanced through the pages, all the while nodding.  “This looks like what Apothecary Adan was requesting,” she agreed before rolling them up.  Turning to face him one last time, Taryn smiled.  “Thank you,” she said softly.  “For this and for the talk.”


	6. Background Check

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As stated previously, because these ideas will come to me randomly, they will be posted out of chronological order. This particular piece is fairly early on in the story.

****

 

What she’d expected when finally summoned to the War Table for the first time since the Inquisition was established some weeks before and what she found there upon arrival were two completely different kettles of fish, as one of the merchants back in Ostwick once told Taryn.  Entering the room, Taryn found herself confronted by her advisors and Cassandra.  Literally.  They stood apart from her, separated, distant.  The table between them, maps lain out, markers off to the sides waiting for assignment.  But the suggestion of division was difficult to miss.  

Or, perhaps, Taryn was reading too much into things.  After all, it had been just over two months since the Conclave.  She was back to fighting form, or as close to what she was used to as ‘fighting form’ as she could be.  From what she understood their mission to be, she was ready to go, and willing.  Taryn was getting antsy, though, and so were the few troops they had at their disposal just now.  And any time she asked regarding how much longer the delays would last, she was told it was for _her_ benefit.  

_You are still recovering from your injuries, Herald._

_We are still gathering intel on our targets, Herald._

_We need more troops ready to provide you adequate support, Herald._

_You need more time to get back into fighting shape, Herald._

Taryn was about done with the lot of them.  She knew good and well that wasn’t what the real issue was, and today she was going to put it all to rest, once and for all.

Or, so she thought.

Walking into the room after ignoring the unimpressed sneer of Chancellor Roderick as she entered the Chantry itself, Taryn had to fight the urge to fold her arms across her chest in an instinctual defensive posture.  Before her, laying atop the map and spread out for her perusal were pages upon pages of information.  There were dozens of them, all neatly written in differing scripts from what she could see.  A quick scan identified those on the very top: a detailed family tree and the interconnections her family had to noble families in Orlais, Antiva and (soon to be) Starkhaven; letters (that she presumed) laid out her specific levels of achievement and training from back in Ostwick signed by those instructors her father had deemed worthy enough and hired to train her; and what appeared to be a detailed list of her comings and goings for the past several months in and around the city of Ostwick before she headed off to the Conclave with Simon and Maxwell ….

It made sense, she supposed, at least on the surface.  They, none of them, knew her at all before the events at the Temple.  She was a nobody - an unwanted, eighth child who caused more trouble and heartburn for her family than was worth the effort, or so her parents often told her.  The only reason she had been sent to the Conclave at all was so that afterwards, her brothers could directly escort her back to join the Templar Order in Ostwick as they had.

Only … they hadn’t survived the Conclave and she had.  She now had the mark on her hand and … had a purpose for her life?  Well, if the elf mage, Solas, was right about things, she appeared to.  It was still all a blur to her, most of it a hazy, undecipherable morass trapped somewhere in the recesses of her mind.  But they - Cassandra, at least - had made it quite clear from the beginning that she was not trusted for what needed doing, noble or not.  

_So why bother with all this if they did not trust her to do the job, quite literally, at hand?_

Taryn stepped forward and without asking or waiting for permission, began sifting through the papers, well aware of the four sets of eyes watching her every move.  Her eyes caught on a few of the pieces buried deeper: sworn oaths by tutors to subjects and level of study; a testament to additional specialized training she had sought for sword and shield on her own to prepare her for entry into a Grand Tourney some years before; and last but not least, a signed affirmation that she was indeed the youngest daughter of Lord Reynold Trevelyan and Carlotta DiGrassi Trevelyan of House Trevelyan in Ostwick.

Taryn snorted in disgust as she tossed this last piece onto the top of the pile, watching it spin around in a circle until it came to a rest facing the four.  “You must have reached them on a good day,” she muttered.  

Sighing, she raised a hand to press at her temples, the ache of a headache starting to make its presence known.  Not unusual of late, but currently aggravated by the scene before her.  “The only thing missing,” she told them a moment later and in a bit louder and much more bitter tone, “is affirmation that I was in attendance at the Conclave with my brothers.  You appear to have the rest of my life covered; such as it is.”

Josephine’s feet shuffled, but the scratch of her quill did not stop as she continued to take notes on the meeting.  Taryn’s eyes rose and searched … stopping for a longer moment to hold Leliana’s before moving on to Cassandra and Cullen.  “All you had to do was ask me,” Taryn pointed out.  “I could have saved you the effort and the ti -”

She halted, inhaling sharply as realization hit her square in the face.  “That is why you have kept me here all these weeks,” she murmured.  “We could have been out there, beginning your Inquisition, saving those who are suffering and becoming targets, and yet -”

“You needed time to heal, Herald,” Josephine pointed out quickly.  “We gave you that time.”

Her eyes meeting Leliana’s again, she gave the woman a slight tilt of her head in acknowledgement as she corrected, “You wanted time to spy on me.  To find out if I was indeed who I said I was.”

Straightening, Taryn snorted in wry amusement, her head shaking back and forth twice.  “I should be grateful, I suppose,” she informed them, “to have finally come to the attention of someone who cared enough to search out the truth.  Still ….”  

Reaching over, Taryn pulled together the papers into a somewhat neat pile atop one another before lifting it and setting it aside.  Reaching for one of the markers - she had not a care if it was the correct one or not - she grasped it and slammed it down to the center of the map of Ferelden.  Rumors had been circulating Haven for the past day or two regarding the state of things in the Hinterlands.  Now it was time to act.  “I care not for your background checks or supposed contacts looking into my past.  You asked me to help, and I agreed.  If you wish that help, put me to use or let me go home.  I grow tired of waiting.”

“From what I understand,” Leliana mused in a deceptively soft tone, “what awaits you back in Ostwick is not of your choosing.”

A mask fell across Taryn’s face shuttering out any hint of her true feelings regarding the observation.  “What I have awaiting me is none of your concern.  Make use of me or not.  I will not remain in limbo any longer.”

Cassandra broke in.  “You will not -”

Taryn’s fist pounded down atop the table hard enough to jolt the marker over onto its side.  “You have spent weeks estimating my abilities, Seeker,” she spat out, temper flaring to match the spark in her emerald gaze.  “You know of what I’m capable.”  Her eyes drifted to the Commander’s.  He, too, she noted, had on a mask of neutrality.   _Soldier to soldier._  “By now you know I am no threat to your cause whether I remain or not.  Either let me do what it is you asked of me, or let me go free.  Else, I will just walk out of Haven on my own two feet and -”

“And head back to Ostwick?” Cassandra challenged.  “I do not think you will find it so easy a journey.”

Taryn turned to exit the room, looking back over her shoulder and giving the Seeker a hard look.  “Only the Maker and I know that,” she replied before stepping outside.

There was a long moment of silence between the four, until finally Cullen mused, “Well, that went better than expected.”

Leliana had an appreciative smile curving her lips.  “Indeed.  At least she did not scatter all our reports across the room.”

Cassandra sighed in disgust, turning away.  

“Cassandra?”

Cullen’s question caught her mid-stride.  “We will leave for the Hinterlands in the morning,” she announced before pulling the door open.  “We will meet up with Scout Harding and proceed from there.”

As the heavy door closed behind her, Cullen could not refrain from a soft chuckle.  This brought both Leliana’s and Josephine’s attentions upon him.  

“You find something amusing, Commander?” Josephine asked.

“I was just thinking how very glad I am not to be a member of that party,” he explained.  “Those two?  Clashing heads and shields together?  It might leave us wondering who we are really fighting against.”

Leliana chuckled along with him.  “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied.  “I have a feeling they might surprise us all.”

 


	7. The World At Your Fingertips

She stood as she always did: alone and against the rest of the world.  

Well, at least staring at the rest of the world this time, she silently amended with a small, private smile.  Fingers tracing lightly, carefully avoiding the active markers most recently set, Taryn explored Thedas.  She began in Ferelden, a country with which she had some familiarity, if only from books, rumors, and her education over the years.  Denerim to Redcliffe.  Highever to Amaranthine.  The Fallow Mire to the Storm Coast.  All of it.  Every bump, flat, river or lake.  She knew it well enough now from personal experience that she could almost recreate it in her sleep if she had to.

She journeyed next to Orlais.  The ‘masked empire,’ as it were.  In some ways Taryn found herself more comfortable here.  The Game, though she was not a particularly good player herself, was as familiar to her as the politics of Ostwick.  It helped, she supposed, that Annet lived there, among the nobility.  Not that they were particularly close - twenty years was a sizable gap between sisters - but there was the blood connection.  Madeleine, too, was a relation, though that one was more difficult being they were sisters by marriage.  It was also one where, Taryn had sufficient reason to believe, her sister-by-law did not care for the younger siblings of her husband so much, and was not afraid to show it.  Still, there was much she knew about the empire and that information could be shared despite the state of their relationship.

Slowly, carefully, Taryn worked her way around through the Free Marches, over to Ostwick.  A single dot on the map, indicative of location but not of any substance.  Vaguely, briefly, she wondered at the current happenings there in her absence.  How the markets flowed or didn’t.  How the politics might have changed.  How the rifts might be influencing things there.  And, of course, how her parents might be attempting to use their newfound status in being related to the Herald of Andraste to their own advantage ….

“You have the world at your fingertips,” a familiar lilting voice observed, stepping smoothly from the shadows in the room.  There was a hint of amusement in her tone, but the statement was just as real as it was a pun.

Taryn smiled, not bothering to glance up at the new arrival.  There was no need - she’d known the woman had been there all along.  “Some might say that,” Taryn agreed, “though I would think it more probable of someone like you, or perhaps Josephine.”

Her laughter was light, but Taryn knew it only revealed what Leliana wished the Herald to see just then.  “And you would miss out on all the fun?” she teased, stepping up to the table to look at the arrangement of markers.  Sighing, she continued on to muse, “You are the Herald of Andraste.  People will come to you, ask you for aid, listen to you.  You are Her chosen representative for the rest of us.”

Taryn snorted softly, turning to face the spymaster and leaning her hip against the table.  “And what of you and Cassandra, hmm?  You were the Hands of the Divine.  In me, most see a pretender despite my upbringing.  A usurper of the worst kind trying to tear the Chantry apart.  In you two, they have -”

Leliana’s lips curved upwards.  “In us, they see the impetus behind the Inquisition.  People like Chancellor Roderick who claim we are instigating rebellion and heresy.”  

Her smile faded, eyes clouding over for a moment, and Taryn suspected her thoughts drifted to the missing Divine.  “Slowly,” she continued after a moment, “they join our cause.  Hear our message.  Find hope that the Maker and Andraste have not left us.”

Taryn sighed.  She could suddenly sense where this discussion might lead.  “Leliana -”

“You do believe you were chosen by Andraste, don’t you?”

Taryn bit her lip and folded her arms across her chest.  It was a question that had been eating away at her ever since Cassandra first began calling her Herald, and she still had yet to come to any decision on her part.  Was she, or wasn’t she?  

It all came down to faith, she supposed.  She could reply with what she truly felt - that despite being a faithful Andrastian, she simply did not feel any different than she had before all of this began; aside from now having the mark upon her left hand and everyone looking at her oddly most of the time.  She could follow Josephine’s suggestion; to take the diplomatic route, to give the people something they wanted, _needed_ to believe in right now, to take away the fear and give them hope.  She could even resort to behaving like she had with her parents at times over the years when she found them being unreasonable; deny it all flat out.  Give them absolutely nothing of what they wanted since they would not give her anything in return.

Since this whole thing began, there had been instances where she had felt all three, and at the same time none of them.  She was, whether anyone else wanted to see it or admit to it or not, just like them: a person who believed in the Maker, in Andraste; someone who had lost those she cared most about at the Conclave and who was terrified at the idea of what was happening around them.  And while she did not necessarily feel worthy enough to be called the Herald of Andraste, she understood that it gave hope to others who had those same fears and doubts.  At times, she’d wanted nothing more to scream at the Maker; demand why:  Why her?  Why now?  Why when so many others out there were much more deserving to be in her position?

The hinges creaked softly as the door was opened, but Taryn’s thoughts were not pulled away from contemplating the answer to the question Leliana had asked.  Leliana had timed it wisely, knowing that they both needed an answer sooner rather than later.

“I … I honestly don’t know what to believe,” Taryn replied after a long moment.  Her eyes drifted down to her hand, the faintest hint of green glowing beneath the leather that covered it.  “I think I _want_ to believe it.  Not just to give people something to hope for, but ….”  She sighed and made a frustrated sound, eyes lifting to meet Leliana’s and unafraid to show her that she, too, had doubts like everyone else.  “What if that’s wrong?  What if Cassandra is right and I am the one who killed Div-”

“I do not believe that any longer.”

Turning on her heel, Taryn drew in a sharp breath as Cassandra spoke.  The conviction in the Seeker’s tone was solid.

“I meant what I said when I told Chancellor Roderick that I did not believe you to be guilty.  Someone else is responsible for Divine Justinia’s death, not you.”

Taryn stared across the table at the Seeker for a long moment.  Like Leliana, Cassandra was difficult to read at times, but Taryn thought she could relate to the woman just a little bit easier than she could the spymaster.  It wasn’t something she could describe, but she sensed it nonetheless.  “And if you are wrong?” Taryn asked, needing to know the answer.

“I heard your conversation up at the temple,” Cassandra reminded her.  “The echoes of what happened at the Conclave.  I am not wrong this time.”

Turning back to Leliana, Taryn squared her shoulders as she straightened.  “I suppose that I do believe it then.”   _At least until someone can prove otherwise_ , a voice in the back of her brain reminded her.  Taryn chose to ignore it for now.  

“Good.”  Stepping forward, Leliana laid several pieces of parchment on the table in front of Taryn.  “The more _you_ believe in it,” the door opened once again, and this time Taryn spotted Josephine and Cullen entering the room, “the more the people will, too.”

It did not escape Taryn’s notice that Josephine nodded her agreement to what Leliana was saying even though she just walked in on the conversation.  It must have been something that all three of her advisors had been wondering.  Cullen, too, appeared to have a slightly relieved look in his eyes.  

Right then, time to get to work.  Reaching for the reports, Taryn lifted them and began sifting through.  The world at her fingertips, indeed.

 


End file.
